


Genetics of Gold

by Taupefox59



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: But Canon for Repo, Canon-Typical Violence, Dis is Mag, Fire, Fíli is Shilo, Gen, Past Character Death, Smaug is Rotti, So a lot of blood, The entire company is in this but I don't want a wall of tags, The family trees are very different in this than in Hobbit, This is heavily influenced by the Repo! stage play as well., Thorin is Nathan, tags to be updated as needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/pseuds/Taupefox59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repo!/Hobbit fusion. (Originally titled 'Company Met in a Graveyard'.)</p><p>Thorin is a Repoman working for the treacherous and despicable founder of Geneco, Smaug.</p><p>Smaug is searching for someone to inherit Geneco, unwilling to leave his treasure to his sons (the madly violent Azog, and the cripplingly narcissistic Thranduil) or Thraunduil's "daughter" Tauriel.</p><p>Fíli has spent his life following his Uncle Thorin's strict rules, but one night, he sneaks out and is introduced to a world unlike anything he'd ever experienced from the safety of his home.</p><p>A Graverobber, being captured, and being rescued set in motion a series of events that will lead Fíii down a path he never could have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Company Met in a Graveyard

**Author's Note:**

> This is un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know. Constructive criticism always appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fíli goes walking at night and finds himself surrounded by unexpected company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Repo! context - check out 21st Century Cure from [the film](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Br87eV_9nGI) and [the stage play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FzpSDXoLWOM)

Fíli was picking his way through broken, disintegrating blocks of cement that used to make up what had probably been a beautiful building. His eyes were trained to the ground, looking through the shadows for his lost throwing knife.

“Fíli, you’ve got to be more careful.” he muttered, mocking his uncle Thorin’s low-pitched growl, “You don’t know what’s out there in the world.” Fíli kicked a piece of gravel in frustration. “Of course I don’t know what the world is like, you don’t ever let me out!” Finally, he spied a glint in the darkness.

“My job is to protect you. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re safe,” Fíli mimicked. “And the best way to keep me safe is to make sure I never do anything!” Fíli grabbed the throwing knife and shoved it back in his belt with the rest of the set.

Fíli knew this area well. It was his favourite practice spot. He had a few that he cycled through, just in case any of them were discovered, and he didn’t want to depend too much on one place, just in case it became unsafe. He’d been sneaking out almost every day for nearly a year though, and he’d yet to find anything dangerous enough to not go exploring. Sure, he kept to the shadows, and stayed away from populated areas, but it all seemed safe enough.

He’d found this spot just a few months ago, but it was perfect. It was on the edge of a graveyard, but an old-style one, back when graves had been carved from stone and marked with flowers. There was a dead tree that was perfect to use as target practice. Fíli had been throwing knives for years, but there were only so many holes in the walls he could cover up with posters before Thorin started to notice. He checked his watch and realized that it was nearly time to be home. With a sigh he started towards the twisted, rusting skeleton of an abandoned skyscraper that marked the edge of his favourite shortcut.

 

Suddenly, a light flashed across the desiccated remains of architecture. Shit. Fíli could feel the rush of fear and adrenalin. He ducked low, crouching into the shadows. There as a low scraping, the noise of stone. Fíli began to creep forward, searching for the source of the sound.

There, among the crumbling headstones. A tall figure among the dark. Sick fear shot through Fílie’s veins. He couldn’t see in the dark. If the creature was part of the Organ Retrieval Crew, or worse, a Repo… Fíli would be as good as dead. He was good with his knives but they wouldn’t help him if he was caught by a Repossession Agent.

The light flashed again, and Fíli could see that it wasn’t the sleek black uniform of anyone employed by Geneco. The figure had dark, curling hair, shot through with bright strands of colour and a long, fraying coat patterned in dark brown and navy blue. Fíli let out a breath. A graverobber. Not good. So very, very not good. Graverobbers were shot on sight. If they were lucky. Fíli couldn’t help the shiver that went through him. He had to get home. Mentally, he apologized to Thorin. If he could just get home, he wouldn’t come out here anymore. He would stay inside. He’d find a different way to practice. Fíli started forward, trying to move as silently as possible. He just needed to make it to the head of his trail. He just needed to make it that far; away from the graveyard, away from the lights. Away from the graverobber, who must be insane, because there was the unmistakable sound of singing coming from the direction of the plundered grave.

Fíli focused on moving steadily towards safety, but kept an eye on the graverobber, who now seemed to be glowing with blue light.

There was more scraping. The graverobber had moved to a different grave. The blue light was brighter. The singing continued.

Fíli was almost to the entrance of the building.

There was a thundering crash and a loud cry of “FUCK!”.

Fíli froze. There was no cover between his corner and the entrance of his shortcut. He’d have to run for it. A floodlight swept across the yard. Fíli drew in a deep breath. He had to think. He’d be dead if he got caught by an Organ Retrieval Crew. More floodlights joined the first. Fíli could hear the heavy, regimented footsteps of the ORCs. The fear was thick in Fíli’s throat. He couldn’t get caught. He shouldn’t even be here.

The graverobber let out another loud yell. What was he doing? The footsteps were louder. Fíli couldn’t wait. He ran for the building. He hadn’t even made it halfway there, when he was swept up by arms clad in the black leather armor of the ORCs.

Fíli’s heart sank. He was so dead.

  
  
  
  


Fíli’s arms had been forced behind his back, and bound with thick plastic ties. They’d carried him to some kind of transport, and simply tossed him in the back. He’d landed with a with a meaty thud, and it had taken barely an instant for Fíli to realize that he’d been tossed onto a pile of bodies. He couldn’t stop the fear that washed through him as he recoiled, struggling to sit up. He’d nearly managed it when he was knocked down by heavy weight.

That fucking graverobber.

Fíli took several elbows to the chest, and barely managed to avoid a knee to the groin before the graverobber sat himself and shifted to casually perch on top of a body. Fíli stared.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Fíli hissed, once again struggling to sit up.

“You shouldn’t be outside if you’re afraid of ORCs, Goldilocks.” The graverobber said. His voice was a smooth tenor thoroughly encased in bravado. He had a wicked smirk beneath sparkling brown eyes, “What’s a delicate thing like you doing outside at night, anyway?” He tossed his head to get his long dark hair out of his face.

“I would have been fine, if it hadn’t been for you making all that noise!” Fíli shot back. His fear had sharpened itself into anger. “And I’m not delicate!”

The graverobber sent him a disbelieving look. “Okay, Goldilocks.” With a raised eyebrow and a condescending smile, he leaned back against the side of the transport.

Fíli huffed and turned away from the graverobber with a deathwish. If he twisted just right, maybe he’d be able to reach the handle of one of his knives. The transport hadn’t gone very far. The orcs didn’t seem to be watching the back hatch. If he could get free, he could slip away and still make it home before Thorin. Maybe.

The transport was loud, rattling down the path, lurching heavily over the uneven surface. The motor churned out a wheezing grind with unhealthy regularity. When there was a series of harsh, ratcheting clicks, Fíli assumed it was another noise of the vehicle. The graverobber knew better, though, and immediately sat up, tense and alert.

“What was that?” Fíli asked. His fingers were just grazing the hilt of a knife. Just a few more moments and he would have it.

“Shut up.” was the terse reply.

There were some clicks, before the graverobber let out a piercing series of whistles.

“What are you doing?” Fíli asked, gripping tighter at his knife now that he’d finally gotten his fingers around it.

The graverobber let out another sharp whistle, before turning to Fíli. “Get ready to jump, Goldilocks.”

“What?”

The graverobber moved away from the wall and braced as best could on the unsteady pile of corpses beneath their feet.

“Move on my signal or get left behind. Your choice.”

Fíli didn’t really want to get any further mixed up with the graverobber, but figured that anywhere was better than the back of an ORC transport. Keeping a grip on his knife, Fíli got ready to follow.

“Now!”

They jumped.

 

The ORC transport rumbled on without them, hauling the load of carcasses into the night.

  
  


Fíli hit the ground hard, rolling to his knees and scrambling to his feet as best he could with his arms still behind him.  He’d managed to keep his grip on his knife and went to work on slowly cutting through the plastic restraints. The graverobber sat on the ground where he landed and whistled again. This time, instead of being answered by clicks, the graverobber had to dodge and a fist-sized rock was thrown towards his head.

“Oi!” The graverobber said, “That’s hardly polite.”

Fíli had managed to saw about halfway through his bindings when he heard a rustling in the bushes. Feeling another surge of fear, Fíli worked faster, losing his care for maintaining his clothes and not nicking his skin. He had to get his hands free. He had to get back to the building. He had to go home.

Slowly, from out of the shadows on the sides of the path, figures began to emerge. One of them stepped into the light, and Fíli realized what had happened. They had been...rescued? by other graverobbers.

One with copper hair, knotted with long shanks of bright colors, stepped forward and hauled up the stupid, crazy, grinning graverobber that had gotten them both caught.

“Kíli.”

Fíli jerked up, thinking that he’d heard his name, but no. Apparently the insane graverobber was named...Kíli? The red-haired graverobber cut Kíli loose roughly, and then shoved him back down to the ground.

“You do not do this again Kíli!” The older graverobber said.

“It worked out fine, Nori!”

At this point, Fíli had managed to cut through enough of the plastic that he could work his arms free. There were people all around though. He wouldn’t have much chance of escape. He looked around. He thought he could pick out three other shapes moving in the darkness.

“It did not work out fine Kíli! Do you understand how lucky you are? If Ori hadn’t been picked up the message, you would be dead!”

Fíli glanced at the young graverobber, still seated on the ground, somehow managing to look both defiant and chagrined at the same time. The other graverobbers were close enough now he could make out details. One was the most rotund figure Fíli had ever seen in his life, another seemed to be wearing some kind of bizarre hat. The third was still too far away to see well, but he could see light glistening off silver hair that seemed to be intricately fashioned.

“You didn’t see how much was there-” Kíli was still protesting.

“I don’t care how much was there!” Nori said, “If you weren’t so bent on getting yourself killed, you’d know you can just go back to a cache!”

The other graverobbers had reached the road, moving to stand behind the copper-haired Dwarf, who seemed to be in charge. To Fíli’s ears the three had moved in utter silence, though it was hard to hear past the half-shouted conversation still taking place.

Kíli slumped as the last of his defiance was drained in the face of the anger and frustration clearly borne by all of his companions, “I...I-”

“It’s bad enough when it’s just you, but now you’re dragging other people into it.” Nori said, gesturing to where Fíli stood, still tensed and ready in the middle of the road.

“I didn’t drag him into anything.”

“Then why is he here, Kíli? If you want to work like Dis, you have to be careful, don’t you understand? You can’t get caught on a run!”

Kíli looked at the ground, “I know.”

“Nori.” The one in the hat stepped forward, trying to diffuse the tension. He was ignored.

“If you get caught on a run-” Nori continued.

“I know!” Kíli shouted back, “I know what happens, okay? But I wasn’t - he isn’t..he was just there, okay? He’s not a run.” Kíli glanced over at Fíli, “I- he might be a stray?”

Fíli interrupted, seeing as how he had clearly become the subject of the conversation. He didn’t know what a run was, but he certainly wasn’t a stray. “I don’t want to be here,” he said, “I just want to go home.”

This statement seemed to shock everyone into silence.

“You just want to go home?”

Fíli nodded, “Please. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone I saw you.”

“Where is home for you?” The grey-haired one said.

“The place I would be right now if it wasn’t for him!” Fíli said, aiming a turbulent look at Kíli.

Kíli sat up at the accusation and sent him a look Fíli couldn’t decipher. It was something like surprise, but paired with wide, pleading eyes. Fíli turned away from it. He didn’t understand what they wanted. If they weren’t going to let him go, what were they going to do to him?

“Are you going to kill me.” Fíli finally said.

This was met with vehement protest from every one of the graverobbers, who all began shouting things like “Of course not!” and “We don’t kill people!”

Fíli just stared. What kind of graverobbers didn’t kill people? Granted, Fíli had never actually met graverobbers before, but he knew getting involved with them ended in bodies. Corpses loaded into trucks, and tucked into corners to be forgotten about. His hands tightened around his knives.

“If you’re not going to kill me, am I free to go?”

“Of course you are,” said the one in the hat, stepping forward, “We just-”

“I don’t need any help from you!” Fíli snapped. He’d had quite enough of graverobber ‘help’.

“Relax, laddie. We’ll let you go. We just want to make sure you get off safe.”

“I was safe before I met any of you!” Fíli cried, frustration getting the better of him.

“You know the way back?”

“Of course!”

“We won’t keep you here then.”

Fíli blinked. Would it really be that easy? He moved forward slowly, still not trusting the graverobbers to try and stop his progress. When he’d finally passed the group and none of them were moving to follow, he turned back to them, “Thank you,” he said quietly, before spinning and sprinting in the direction of the graveyard.

  
  
  


The company of graverobbers watched Fíli run until he disappeared into the shadows. Nori and Bofur seemed to be frozen in place, so Bombur took it upon himself to haul Kíli out of the dust and onto his feet. Kíli may have been standing but every cell of him was drooping and downtrodden. Dori walked over as soon as Kíli was standing and looked ready to start another round of ‘reasons getting captured by ORCs is Unacceptable’, so Bombur just pulled the young graverobber into a hug and refused to let go until Kíli lost enough guilty self-consciousness to hug back.

“It is easy to make fear sound like anger.” Bomber said softly.

Kíli just buried his face into Bombur’s soft, round shoulder and squeezed tighter.

“Or maybe he sounded angry because he was angry.” Dori said pointedly.

Bombur ignored the comment in favour of the boy currently in his arms. “We were terrified when we heard that a graverobber had been captured. We had to convince Bifur not to come,” Bomber said, running a gentle hand along Kíli’s tangled hair, “And if Bifur wanted to come, you can imagine Dis.”

Kíli let out a quiet whine, leaning in to the shelter of Bomburs welcoming bulk. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” Bombur said, “I just want to remind you that you’re a part of the company. You’re one of Erebor’s own. It’s not like how it was before. You have people who care about you now.”

Kíli took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am good at this.” He said, “I know it doesn’t look like it, but before I was always-”

“No one is asking you to prove yourself.” Bombur cut Kíli off again, “We know you’re skilled. You don’t have to be the best-

“I was the best!” Kíli protested sharply.

“And how long do people keep that title?” Bombur asked, finally showing the steel that supported his gentle exterior.

“Long enough-”

“Long enough to get themselves noticed and get themselves killed.” Dori snapped from off to the side.

Kíli tried to pull away from Bombur at that point, overwhelmed and unable to face his apparent attackers, but Bombur simply reeled him back in and held him close.

“We just want you to come home in the morning.”

Kíli let out a long sigh. “I’ll do better,” he finally said, barely audible from his position curled into Bomburs round chest.

“That’s all we can ask for.” Bombur said.

 

Meanwhile, Nori and Bofur were still staring at the path that Fíli had taken, thinking of a different man they’d once known, with the same blonde hair and quick fingers, who had married the Raven of Erebor back when her eyes were the same sparkling blue that they’d seen tonight. Before surgeries and the railroad and yet another terrible ‘accident’...

“You know who he looks like?” Bofur said quietly.

Nori nodded, “I think we might need to have a chat with Dis.”

  
  
  


Fíli raced down the path, fueled by frustration and confusion and fear. When he reached the familiar landscape of the graveyard, he shot through it, trading any semblance of stealth for speed. He couldn’t fight the the creeping relief him when he finally reached the beginning of the trail home. He didn’t stop until he’d crashed through the door of his house, slamming it shut behind him.

He froze at the amount of noise he’d made coming in through his secret entrance in the basement, terrified that Thorin would be home and come to examine the commotion. Fíli took a few deep, gulping breaths, and listened intently. There was nothing. Nothing but the ambient whir of the air-filtration system and the creaking of dilapidated floorboards. He took a few more moments to catch his breath and calm the drumbeat of his heart.

The night had been terrifying. But also… His mind sparked to the image of the graverobber kneeling next to a mausoleum, silhouetted by harsh light of the ORC patrol. He shook his head to clear the image. It was strange. He had wanted to go home...but, as scared as he’d been...the graverobbers had all sounded so truthful and earnest. He couldn’t believe that they wandered around killing people. If they weren’t the flipside of the coin that was Repo agents, then...what were they? Fíli was scared, so scared, to go out again, but the fear was overpowered by the immense magnitude of his curiosity.

Everything he knew, he had learned from Thorin, or from watching. His understanding of the world came from second-hand reports, or the scant snapshot he could see from his window. He didn’t care if it was terrifying, he had to go back. He had to find out just how much he’d gotten wrong. How many things he didn’t know that hadn’t even occurred to him as things he could know.

Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow night, he would go back. Kíli had made it sound like it was a good place for...for something. Fíli would just have to wait. Stay in place until he could find the graverobbers again. And then...and then he’d find out what the world was really like.

  
  


Fíli had taken his final daily dose of medication and was safe in bed by the time that Thorin got in.

They exchanged the usual pleasantries, but Thorin seemed distracted, and Fíli was more than willing to play up exhaustion to avoid many questions about his day. As Thorin left, he paused in the doorway, just as he had every night for as long as Fíli could remember and said the same words he would repeat every morning when he left.

“You are the most precious thing in my life.”

  
  
  


That night, Fíli dreamt of eerie blue light and dark hair tumbling out of the shadows to frame flashing white teeth. If he woke with the rough tenor of a once-heard song echoing through his thoughts, he would never tell anyone.

 

 


	2. Remember, Remember (It's All Your Fault)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Thorin became a Repoman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Repo! context, check out ['Night Surgeon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7-9lWjE_cZc/) and, of course, ['Repo Man'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7AjlT406_s) Serious gore warning for those, by the way.
> 
> (Picking this show apart to write this fic is really making me realize how twisted it is. )
> 
> Un-beta'd, and also, I really know nothing about surgery. So. Blame bad googling technique, and please let me know if you find anything terribly off!

 

Thorin walked into Smaug’s office. It was cold and clean; dark like always, light from the shimmering, cold blue light warped shadows and sucked the warmth from the gold that covered the room. The room was shades and darkness; the thick gilt covered the walls like scales; the air itself held a metallic tang.

Smaug himself sat behind a huge, metal desk; it was the same dark, soulless colour of the rest of the room. At one point, it had probably been beautiful, but now it was covered in decades of accumulating dust and dirt. There were dark splotches on it that Thorin knew were blood. The desk had probably never been cleaned - Smaug liked trophies; he liked to sit back in his black throne and watch as understanding dawned in the eyes of the doomed.

And Thorin knew himself to be doomed.

He was so far beyond any hope of redemption.

Maybe - maybe he would have had a chance before, when he was young, before Fíli had been born - before he’d killed Frerin.

Thorin closed his eyes against the thought. It was getting more and more difficult to bring himself into the office of the beast (some on the streets called him The Dragon of Geneco, but no one had ever spoken the name to Smaug’s face and learned to tell of it), but every night he managed to make the pilgrimage.

He had to keep going, he had to. For Dís; for Fíli. He had to keep them safe. They were only in danger because of his mistakes, so if he had to sacrifice his very soul to Smaug, he would do it. He had hesitated before, and his brother Frerin was dead because of it. He would not allow the same thing to happen again.

“Dear Thorin,” Smaug said, with a lazy, self satisfied tone in his low, rumbling voice, “I have another assignment for you.”

Thorin wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to disappear, to be anywhere other than where he was. He couldn’t show weakness. He rolled his shoulders back and stepped up to Smaug’s desk, taking the files that Smaug held for him.

He couldn’t think about what he was doing. None of it mattered. He had to keep everyone safe.

 

He’d failed once already. He do whatever it took not to fail again.

 

Files in hand, Thorin spun and left the office. He had work to do.

  
  


_Eighteen Years Ago…_

__  
  


_Frerin and Dís were beautiful on stage together. Twin stars, stunning and blinding with their brilliance. Frerin’s voice was deep and rich, with a warmth that was unmatched; his tone was strong and welcoming, the solid foundation of an open home; at once intrinsically unreachable but utterly inviting. Frerin’s were the broad strokes, the bass notes rumbling through the night, to resonate in within the bones of those who would listen. Dís was the Raven of Erebor, even then; the ringing clarity of her soaring soprano could cut through the air; a tease, a light in the darkness, daring each to follow if they would dare. She would twist and swoop, twining around the melodies held by her brother. Her song was not one that could be touched, not one that could be caged. Her song was movement itself, the life that could only exist within the safety of home; supported by sturdy walls._

_They were partners on the stage; eyes bright and teeth flashing as they captured the world with their music._   
_Frerin was the warmth of home, the comfort of familiar arms and a steady heart. Dís was the spark that lit the fire; the first rays of sunlight after a long night._

_Together, they sang, they wove stories. Together, they brushed off the forgotten memories of a different world and set them alight. Together, they broke through haze of dust blown from decaying cement and the flickering laser-lit distractions that flashed from every corner; together they were a reminder to the world of the times when bodies were not synonymous for betrayal, and unpaid debts were not paid back in blood, staining the silent, darkened ground._

_Thorin made enough from his practice to support Frerin and Dís when they started out; when the most glamorous role they could land was as a lowly member of the chorus - but they were in the chorus of the renowned Erebor Opera Company, and it didn’t take long for Erebor to recognize their potential. Thorin had been there, for Frerin’s first speaking line, for Dís’s first aria. He had sat in the front row, and seen them shimmering onstage when they had their first roles together. They were jewels; polished, flawless, and they were finally in a setting that allowed them to be seen._

_Thorin had done his best to keep them safe- to keep them healthy. He’d thrown every moment of his time into learning his craft. He became one of the most skilled surgeons the world had ever seen. He was known for his steady hands and his commitment. If one of Thorin’s patients had a problem that technology couldn’t solve, Thorin would create something new. His ways were slower, his techniques older, but everyone who left his operating table left it whole and hale, and they rarely returned._

_He’d seen what happened to those who tangled with Geneco, seen the sad, starving look of the addicts that came out of Geneco’s operating rooms. He’d seen the devastation caused from the testing that Smaug did on his patients. Thorin remembered the first trials of Mithril; how those who had been given the drug had sunk into themselves, unable to recover from the shredded synapses left in the wake of an unstable formula. He had done everything he could to help those who were not beyond saving, but there was only so much he could do.  He was going to keep his family out of Smaug’s clutches if it took his very life to do it._

_What Thorin had never counted on was that it would take someone else’s life instead._

_The night of the fire - all Thorin could remember was chaos._

_He’d been cornered by Smaug in his own office, once again being forced to refuse to work with Geneco. Over and over, Smaug would sweep in, syrupy sweet words sliding out from behind fanged teeth, offering glittering, gilded visions of the future; all the wealth of kings, endless technological advancements to be set at his fingertips - safety and security for his family. Just sign the contract, and Frerin, Dís - the entire Erebor Company that they’d learned to call home - would never have to worry again. They would be secure in all of the best protection that Geneco could offer._

_Thorin said no, as he had every time before, and as he had planned to ever more._

_Smaug spoke of the things that Erebor would be able to accomplish with his patronage; of the advancements and enhancements that he could easily supply, if only they were willing to sign his contracts. He spun tales, of Dís, of Frerin, of how they could transcend the stage; of how they could become so much more than they were - with certain modifications, of course - they change everything that opera was._

_Smaug had stared at Thorin, with cold, yellow eyes, and made his accusation. “I spoke to them of this. They sounded quite favourable, I had contracts drawn up. Isn’t it strange that you visit, and they change their minds about accepting my offer.”_

_Thorin had smiled back as best he could, and said nothing. (If his eyes were filled with hatred and suspicion, that was his own business.)_

__  
  
  


_But that was before._

__  
  
  


_As he approached his home, Thorin hadn’t realized anything was wrong. It was common for the smell of smoke to be thick in the air. Old buildings were crumbling, and the desperate would do anything for one night of warmth - even if it meant bringing the entire structure collapsing down on their heads. The ones who lit the fires were lost anyways, trapped in the eternal cold of addiction, shivering away the last of their lives seeking the oblivion that came from the unfeeling light of Mithril._

_When he turned the corner, and saw the flames slowly crawling out the windows, stretching out like the greediest ivy, and Thorin’s heart iced over in his chest. There was the moment of cresting, sickening realization, the moment of overwhelming, all-consuming terror, and then the adrenaline hit. Thorin sprinted into the burning building._

_He had meant to be home - they were all meant to be home, having dinner as a family for the first time in too long.  His siblings were in that house and Thorin would walk through dragonfire if it meant keeping them safe._

_That was the night that Thorin learned: it didn’t matter what he would do, when he was simply faced with what he couldn’t do._

_He’d found Dís first, trapped behind beams from a collapsed stairway, crawling slowly, feeling her way along the floor. There was no hesitation. He leapt between the spaces of the burning framework, uncaring of the ember that caught in his clothing. Dís was a sturdy woman; brilliant and strong in her own right, but she was weak from smoke. Her skin was shiny and pink from the heat. Thorin pulled her from the floor and up into his arms. He had to get her outside. He needed to get her to safety as quickly as possible, because Frerin was still in danger._

_Thorin ran through the house with the familiarity of years, ignoring the stinging pain of smoke in his eyes, and the way he could feel the heat filling his lungs with every breath. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered but his family. He had to get Dís safe. He had to find Frerin._

_The door was open from when he’d come through. He rushed through it and out into the clean, cool night air._

_His house was surrounded by people; flashing lights, bodies in black leather. Thorin didn’t understand - where had they come from, what did they want, why weren’t they helping - gently, he laid Dís down on the ground. He made sure that she was settled against stone, far enough away to be out of reach of even the most ambitious debris, should anything happen to the inferno that had once been their home._

_He brushed her hair back, only for it to crumble in his hands, burnt from the heat. Dís’s eyes were shut, the delicate skin blistered and peeling. Thorin couldn’t think about it. He had to get Frerin out, and then - he’d fix it. He’d fix everything._

_He turned away from Dís and sprinted back to the house. He was nearly to the doorway when an arm caught around his neck. It was immovable; a band of steel that Thorin could not escape. He fought with everything that he had - his brother, his brother- he was so close. Thorin had to reach him._

_But he was no match for the strength that held him back. Unnatural, inhuman, and Thorin did not care. He was a surgeon. He had spent his life learning how to repair bodies. He knew how to take them apart. He started with the hand that was clutching across his chest: apply pressure, hear the snap, twist. Then the elbow hooked around his neck: with one hand hold the the broken bones in place, with the other follow the lines of muscle up, hold firmly, twist._

_The scream that followed was deep and guttural. Thorin cut it off; elbowing his attacker in the solar plexis. He ran without ever looking back to see who it was._

_Back into the house. Thorin threw himself back into the smoke and heat. He’d barely gotten past the doorway, when he heard the most beautiful sound of his life._

_“Thorin!” Frerin called out, before his voice dissolved into a hacking cough._

_“Frerin!” Thoirn cried back, trying desperately to find the location of his brother through the unrelenting roar of flame and the ominous creaking of the house as it began to fail. “Frerin!”_

_“Up-” More coughing, then, finally, “Up here!”_

_Thorin ran through the living room. Frerin was standing at the landing of where the staircase used to be; the stairs that had fallen and nearly crushed Dís._

_Thorin stared. Horror began to drip through his veins. What could he do?_

_The haze of smoke was nearly impossible to see through, the heat of the fire made every breath a punishment, and Thorin cared for none of it, except that he was one impossible storey away from his brother, and he did not know how to cross the space._

_There was a loud crack as the beams holding the ceiling lost their integrity to the rapacious flames. They were out of time._

_“Jump!” Thorin yelled. It wasn’t a good plan, but he couldn’t do nothing. “Jump. I’ll catch you!”_

_“Thorin-”_

_“You’ve got to try!” Thorin screamed; choking as the air burned his throat._

_He couldn’t see Frerin hesitate, but he could feel it, when his little brother set his jaw and nodded. Frerin would try. Frerin would trust._

__  
  


_There was no crack this time, no warning hiss of water running from the encroaching flames. There was just one moment, with Frerin standing on the edge of the landing, gathering himself to jump - and then there was nothing, as the floor dropped out from under him, and the hallway followed, sagging in and crumbling. There was a funnel of flame that curled up, chasing the rush of air; bright, molten copper, greedy and unforgiving, taking what was not being offered._

__  
  


_Thorin could only stare as the walls began to sag and bend, warping and buckling._

_Frerin was - no Frerin couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t be gone. Thorin took a deep breath - there was no air left - just heat and hollow horror._

_He walked forward. He couldn’t leave. Frerin had just been there, maybe, maybe there was still a chance. Mechanically, Thorin picked his way across the destroyed floor. Burning pieces of the ceiling were beginning to fall. There was nothing but burning rubble under the place where Frerin had stood. Thorin took his coat off, wrapped it around his hands and tried to move the largest intact pieces._

_“Frerin!” Thorin was screaming. Every breath felt like swallowing glass. He barely noticed it. “Frerin!”_

_Then darkness._

_Thorin didn’t remember being pulled from the building._

_He didn’t remember being treated._

_He remembered his brother falling._

_He remembered learning that Dís had been blinded. Thorin was in no shape to help. By the time he would have healed enough to do her surgery, the damage would be irreversible._

_Thorin was still in treatment when Smaug came in, with yet another contract to offer. There were new clauses in it; stipulations that had never been included before. Thorin wouldn’t be working to help people anymore. He would be working for Smaug._

_This was justified reparations, Smaug had said, in his dark voice, oily and smug. After all, the person whose arm Thorin had destroyed in his desperation to get back into the house was that of Smaug’s oldest son, Azog._

_It was only right for Thorin to be taking up the work that Azog could no longer attend to with is injury._

_This time, when Smaug offered his contract, Thorin signed it. It would insure that Dís would be safe. Her family - her opera company - would be safe. Thorin knew then that he would never contact her again. It was better for everyone that way._

_After all, the one thing he remembered most clearly - the thing he would never be able to forget - it was all his fault._

__  
  
  


_Smaug made sure that Th_ orin never thought to question just why Azog was there that night, made sure no one ever found out just who started the fire. It wasn’t hard to distract Thorin from asking the right questions - simply play the right angles and he would crumble like dust.

  
  
  


***Present

  
  


Smaug revelled in the smug satisfaction that curled through him as Thorin left his office every night. The self-loathing was visible in every movement. Smaug adored it. He took a deep puff on his cigar, and blew out a lazy smoke ring. He swiveled in his chair to face the shadowed wall of his office.

“Bilbo!” he called out, “Where are my useless progeny?”

Bilbo emerged from the darkness, almost as if he were nothing more than a shadow himself. He was dressed all in black and carrying a gun almost as large as he was. His curly hair looked dark in the dim light and his eyes were hidden behind reflective sunglasses.

“They’re on their way, Sir.” He said, keeping his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

Smaug flapped a careless hand at his assistant, “Tell them to hurry up.”

“Of course, Sir.” Bilbo said, giving a slight bow before exiting the office.

 

Bilbo found Smaug’s sons fighting in the hallway. Azog, cruel and violent, now in possession of a bio-mechanical hand that could smash through walls (and often did). Thranduil, vain and greedy, whose obsession with beauty easily surpassed that of Narcissus himself. Occasionally Thranduil was accompanied by the child he had - adopted wasn’t quite the right word for it. Moulded, perhaps. Brainwashed, was what Bilbo thought on the days when his bitterness was too overwhelming to hide.

Bilbo had done his best to help her, though, subtly pushing Tauriel towards the opera whenever he could. He wasn’t sure how successful he’d managed to be, but lately Tauriel was spending most evenings  on the Erebor stage, and even if she was currently of a mind to dethrone the Raven of Erebor, Bilbo held close the unquenchable hope that she could still be saved.

With a long-suffering sigh, Bilbo cocked his shotgun and shot a round off into the ceiling. Thranduil and Azog paused their squabbling long enough to recognize him.

“Your father requests you join him in his office.” Bilbo stated.

The boys knew better than to refuse.

Bilbo didn’t care if they thought the entire way there, as long as they were moving in the right direction.

He knew his job was important, but he was beginning to reach a point where he was losing his ability to care. There was only so long he could pretend before he started to actually lose himself.

Bilbo could only hope he wasn’t already there.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a writing blog [on tumblr](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/) so drop by ever want to say hello, leave a prompt, ask a question or just talk. :D


End file.
